The Fragrance Shed By A Violet

1

Kate Townsend wondered for the one hundredth time that evening why she felt so numb. This should have been the happiest night of her life. Her face was actually sore from the constant smile that had been fixed there for the last ninety minutes as colleagues from all over the country had approached to congratulate her at the open bar preceding the award ceremony that had now started.

The newspaper had spared no expense in planning the gala; Eleanor and Marguerite Philbin had arranged that the exclusive River Oaks Country Club adjust the Banquet Room’s seating capacity to comfortably accommodate the fifteen-hundred-plus journalists representing over one thousand newspapers, and Kate truly appreciated the grace and dignity of the elegant building and its staff. Located at the end of San Felipe in the heart of the affluent River Oaks neighborhood in Houston Texas, the River Oaks Country Club was synonymous with celebratory events by and for prestigious and powerful Houstonians. The building was opulent yet understated with its clean antebellum sweeping design and simple lighting.

Although this evening was the culmination of years of sacrifice and dogged determination on her part, Kate felt hollowed out, empty. Applause had interrupted her boss, Jeff Simmons, more times than she could count as he proudly spoke about her series of articles that had resulted in the award of the Pulitzer Prize for his newspaper, the Houston Tribune. It had been over fifty years since the paper had been granted a Pulitzer, and its financial survival had been in question until Kate’s series had electrified the Houston and the national media. Looking around the dinner table at the faces of the leading characters of what she had come to believe was a modern tragedy, she saw reflected on their faces emotions ranging from jubilation to studied neutrality. Immediately on her left sat Paula Livingston, the older sister of Dr. Lindsey McCall. Although she was over fifty and a mother of three children, Paula was an extremely attractive woman.

Paula confused Kate. She had met with her countless times in the last six months or so, yet she remained a mystery. Her ironclad self-control was unnerving. During their first couple of interviews, Kate had found Paula’s conversation to be consistent with a loving but concerned older sister to Dr. Lindsey McCall. With her background as a cardiac ICU head nurse and her enormous blue eyes that seemed to reflect a deep and genuine sincerity, Paula had been an extremely effective witness at her sister’s trial. It was likely her testimony that had been the most critical factor in the decision of the jury to convict Dr. Lindsey McCall of murdering her dying mother. Yet there were some inconsistencies that Kate had sensed in the story that Paula had told. Those inconsistencies plagued Kate. And so did the fact that Kate had been aware of them almost from the beginning; yet she had been unable to break through Paula’s facade.

Paula sat staring at her glass of wine, wishing she could get to her flask without going to the bathroom again. She had promised herself that she would not drink tonight—of all nights—but while getting dressed, she realized that she could not face this evening and these people without fortification. So she went to the liquor cabinet to retrieve one of the five liters of Absolut vodka she maintained at all times.

Just one drink, she remembered thinking, just one, that’s all I’ll need. But by the time she was ready to leave the house, she had made the trip to the cabinet three times. By now Paula had realized that this long evening would be tolerable only if the dinner wine were fortified by lots of vodka. She had watched Kate Townsend studying her and was aware of the confusion with which Kate regarded her. Paula had become extremely adept at hiding her motives and emotions over the years. And she was observant to the point of vigilance—she had to be. Being finely tuned to the covert behaviors and non-verbal signals of others was an essential attribute of any successful closet drinker. That’s what Paula called herself, a closet drinker: certainly not an alcoholic. Yet Paula’s compulsion to drink was growing—as was her tolerance—and when she allowed herself to dwell on it, she got really frightened.

Catching Dr. Christine Stewart’s gaze, she smiled and rolled her eyes as if to convey her boredom at the endless speech by the newspaper’s editor, Jeff Simmons. She murmured to Kate to excuse herself and silently left the table. Imagining that many pairs of eyes were following her exit from the room, Paula forced herself to move slowly. As she walked through the banquet hall, she thought of Lindsey—the absent star of this show—and laughed to herself thinking, My little sister, how unnecessary all this really was.

Thoughts of their last conversation—if you can call it that—brought back the rage that Paula had felt then: fury at Lindsey’s arrogance, her certainty, the coldness with which Lindsey had declared her diagnosis of Paula.

Now in the restroom, Paula breathed a sigh of relief as she took the flask from her purse and emptied it in three long swallows. Eyes stinging, she looked in the mirror to check her eyes. Good, she thought, no redness, just a little teary, easily attributable to the tragedy that had befallen my brilliant little sister … perfect.

Returning the now-empty flask to her purse, Paula checked her watch and was stunned to see how little time had elapsed since her last bathroom break. This interminable evening had at least two hours to go before it was over, and she was out of vodka. Checking the panic that began to arise, she leaned into the mirror once more, whispering, Girl, we can do this—we’ll take only a couple to help us through the next few hours. And she reached into her purse again.

This time she pulled out a prescription bottle of Zoloft and stared at the label: One to two capsules every six hours for severe anxiety, Christine Stewart, MD. Shaking out two of the capsules, Paula thought again of Lindsey and the arguments that had started all this. It was eight months ago almost to the day. The two sisters were standing in the hall of their mother’s Clear Lake home, arguing. Paula had been begging Lindsey that entire month it seemed: first, to use her research drug to see if it could help their mother as her failing heart grew weaker and weaker and for one more prescription.

Just one more, Lindsey, then I promise you, I’ll never ask again. She had been sobbing.

I’ve been up all night with Mom.

She had even dropped to her knees as she begged her sister for the drug.

God, Paula thought now, did I really do that? Kneel before her as if she were some kind of deity?

Disgusted and humiliated at the memory of her own desperation and Lindsey’s cruelty, Paula mumbled a familiar curse to her absent little sister and thought, I am so glad you finally get to be the lonely one, Lindsey, the frightened one—now it’s your turn.

Lindsey had stared down at Paula, who was sobbing as if her heart would break; stared as if her sister were someone she’d never seen before. And then Lindsey had said in that clinical, detached voice that Paula and their mother detested, No, I am never writing another one Paula, ever. You are addicted to these things. You have a problem—a big one—and I am no longer going to be a part of it.

And she had not let it go there. No, while Paula had been awkwardly trying to regain her balance and get up off her knees on the slippery floor, Dr. McCall had continued to berate her.

And, Paula, I want you to see a friend of mine about your drinking. You’re out of control, and I’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself, one of your grandchildren, or one of your patients. He is a good guy and has worked with a lot of addicts. Dan will even go with you to the first few AA meetings.

All this was said in Lindsey’s calm and measured voice. Paula had once accused her of practicing on tape recorders to achieve that modulation and that pitch.

Lindsey had paused and was stepping back to a table in the hall for a pen and paper to write down the name of the shrink that she wanted Paula to see.

Paula’s hatred of her sister had been so intense that she had stopped the hysterics and began to think clearly. She thought back to a scene many years before when she’d first realized the depth of her animosity toward her younger sister, Lindsey. It was the night of Paula’s junior prom, and she was happier than she had ever been in her young life. She was the head cheerleader that year, and Tony, a guy already out of the navy, had asked Paula to her junior prom. She’d talked her mom into spending over $750 dollars for her dress and knew that she looked beautiful. Her mother and father had asked Paula to pose for some pictures and planned to take more when Tony arrived. As her dad was happily snapping the photos, he’d been singing strains from the song The Yellow Rose of Texas.

But then her seven-year-old sister walked out and stood in the hallway, saying nothing at all, just staring at them all. Her little friend Julie was with Lindsey, as usual. Julie was the only friend the weird little kid had.

Paula could hear Lindsey’s seven-year-old voice all too clearly: there was an eerie adult and decisive tone to it. And Paula did not miss the look that passed between her dad and mother. How that kid had learned that her dress cost $750 was completely beyond Paula, but the magical moment was gone. Both she and her mom had persuaded and cajoled for all they were worth, but Tom McCall was adamant. Now he’d learned that they had deceived him. How many times had Paula and her father had serious talks about her penchant to lie her way out of the scrapes that her impetuosity got her into? Too many for Paula to remember.

Shaking herself free of the awful memories of that night, Paula screwed the cap back on the bottle of pills, checked her appearance one last time, and returned to the dinner, a smile plastered firmly on her face. As she returned to their table, she saw that Kate seemed to be concentrating on something; Kate did not look up when Paula took her seat.

Next to Paula sat Hank Reardon, the chief executive officer of Andrews, Sacks, and Levine, one of the leading pharmaceutical companies in the world. Of the nine people at her table, Kate had found Hank Reardon to be one of the most delightful surprises of her life. In the course of her research for the series on new drug investigation, Reardon’s generosity of spirit had provided her with an unparalleled view of the world of academic medicine and clinical research. She remembered her nervousness when she was introduced to this powerful businessman. And her stunned response to Reardon’s invitation to the Lausanne Corporate Offices for Andrews, Sacks, and Levine during their WebCor meeting in Dr. Christine Stewart’s office.

Without Hank Reardon, Kate mused, there would have been no series, or at least no Pulitzer Prize-winning series. The man had quite literally opened his heart and his life to Kate. That week in Switzerland had been magical, miraculous really, and Kate Townsend was well aware of the privileges she had been granted. Feeling the weight of her gaze, Reardon shifted his attention from the podium to Kate and grinned at her with his electric-blue gaze. Smiling back at him, Kate was struck by the depth of her affection for one of the ten wealthiest men in the world.

Reardon’s sorrow had been genuine when he spoke of Lindsey during Kate’s interviews with him. He spoke openly of their disagreements, but it was clear to Kate that he had admired McCall’s insistence on controlling the methodology of her research and the early conclusions of her stage one clinical trial. It was, Kate recalled, just those arguments that drove the final nail into the relationship between Lindsey and her boss, Christine Stewart.

The three people seated next to Reardon were openly thrilled; smiles and toasts abounded at that corner of the large table. In this age of increasing public skepticism about the effectiveness of drugs, and suspicion about the actual science behind the development and introduction of new drugs, this new drug had provided a windfall both for Reardon’s company and for Houston Medical School. Kate had read recently that shares in ASL had tripled in price in each quarter of this past fiscal year simply on the forecasted FDA approval of the modified digitalis drug now marketed as Digipro. Yet Reardon looked the same tonight as he had each time that Kate had met with him: intensely focused on the people and events unfolding about him. Inscrutable, she thought; no wonder he was so effective. Only the bruised, bluish shadows under his eyes betrayed the deep grief he was feeling at the recent death of his wife, Peg.

And next to Reardon sat the group from Houston General Medical School: Lindsey’s former boss, chair of internal medicine, Dr. Christine Stewart; Dr. Anthony Miller, the president of the medical school; and Dr. V. Samuel Lister, the CEO of the Health Science Center. Although Dr. Stewart had been the only Houston General physician called to testify at Lindsey’s trial, Kate had extensively interviewed both Miller and Lister to understand the complexities of academic medical centers in general and of clinical research in particular. They had been pleasant and accommodating, and had filled in extensive details for Kate upon her return from Switzerland.

Kate had enjoyed this part of her investigation more than almost any other of her series. In fact, she and Jeff had disagreed about the prominence that Kate had decided to give clinical research in her articles. Kate had argued successfully that clinical research, the drug industry, and academic medicine were black boxes and would be of significant interest to the public. Of her four articles in the series, it was this information in the first and second articles that had captured the attention of the national and international media.

Dr. Stewart interrupted Kate’s reflections with a quizzical look. Realizing that she had been staring at Christine, Kate smiled warmly at the woman and hoped that her smile looked genuine.

Stewart was smart, ambitious, and was apparently excellent in her field. Academic medical departmental division heads were still predominantly male, even in the new millennium. Christine Stewart was a notable exception. Not only was she a cardiologist at Houston General Medical Center, but she was also chair of internal medicine at the medical school. Even today, when women account for more than half the medical school graduates in the United States, only 14 percent of cardiology fellows are women. And Stewart was one of only three female chairs of internal medicine in the country.

In the 1980s when both Christine and Lindsey were cardiology fellows, the numbers were even lower. Kate mused again on the improbable odds of two such unusual women arriving in the same place at the same time. That was one of the many ironies that had caught her attention when she had first begun her investigation of this case. Here were two female cardiologists: the subordinate Lindsey McCall and her superior Christine Stewart, who were so intensely competitive that only one had survived. It had seemed like a caricature to Kate in the beginning—like an old women’s liberation joke gone bad. She knew that Christine and Lindsey had never worked together until Christine had been recruited from California to replace Dr. Simon Bayer, Lindsey’s longtime mentor and friend, and wondered how differently this thing would have played out had Dr. Bayer not retired.

Sighing, Kate thought once again about Lindsey and wondered how that she held such admiration for someone she had never met—respect, profound sadness, and a deepening sense of responsibility for her plight.

Dr. Christine Stewart was a twenty-first-century academician. With her medical academic credentials from Stanford and Columbia, she obtained an MBA from Wharton in the late eighties and began to write about the financial tsunamis headed toward the specialties and academic medicine.

Teaching and research are very expensive endeavors and require very deep pockets. As the funding climate had changed, and federal grant dollars were reduced in the difficult economic turndown, all medical schools were forced to look beyond competitive government subsidies. It was only natural that medical schools turn to pharmaceutical companies. In a sense, these new revenue streams were obvious business partners for the struggling medical schools. The pharmaceuticals required the intellectual firepower of the academic medical centers and the AMCs badly needed money to replace funds lost from the turbulent changes in the federal subsidy, insurers, and costs of litigation. Ironically, it was Dr. Lindsey McCall who had brokered the largest research grant ever received by the Houston Medical School. Her ten-million-dollar grant, along with several others, placed Houston General Medical School among the top ten medical schools in the country for research dollars.

By the time Christine Stewart accepted Houston Medical’s offer to replace Simon Bayer as chair of internal medicine, she had become extremely well-known nationally. To some, she was perceived as a necessary adaptation to the many shocks occurring in academic medicine; to others, she was a species to be observed and treated as potentially lethal.

A soft comment from her right brought Kate back to the here and now. It was Eleanor, speaking so that only Kate could hear her. Kate dear, it looks as if Jeff is winding up, and you’ll be introduced in just a few minutes. May I take this moment with you alone, my dear, to tell you how very proud you have made Marguerite and me?

Kate turned to face the eighty-plus-year-old woman and, for the first time, grinned with a real face-splitting grin, not the perfunctory smiles of these last few hours. How she had come to love these two women! Of all the regret that the last year had brought, certainly her relationship with the two sisters was not one of them. Marguerite and Eleanor Philbin owned the Houston Tribune. They had privately told Kate that they were in the last stages of a merger with one of the syndicates when Kate’s series broke. The three had met several times to plan Kate’s series on clinical research, which had been so unexpectedly and so overwhelmingly successful. Although the sisters fit perfectly under the rubric of old Houston oil money, Marguerite and Eleanor Philbin were each a unique combination of wisdom, elegance, and wit. The face that was turned to Kate now was beautiful, aristocratic, and full of love. Eleanor gazed directly into Kate’s eyes and whispered, Stop worrying about Lindsey and enjoy your accolades; you deserve this evening, Kate. And she reached for Kate’s hand to squeeze it.

Kate was so surprised at the woman’s insight that she could feel her eyes start to tear up and her throat close; she had said nothing to anyone about any of her deepening concerns about McCall. Certainly not to Jeff, nor to Eleanor nor Marguerite, for the paper was still recovering from the financial toll of the years of diminishing circulation. In fact, the contract for the book sat unsigned on her desk at her home office. And one of the many demons now assaulting Kate was the knowledge that she could not sign that contract. The book was to be based on her series, and its appearance on the market would very likely assure the newspaper’s continued soaring circulation. Yet, she knew she couldn’t offer this prospect to the owners.

Kate sat rigidly, willing the wave of emotion to subside. But she held on to Eleanor’s hand, gripping it tightly. Finally, Kate recovered enough to draw a deep breath and another until she could look back at Eleanor and smile once more.

Thank you, she whispered, thank you ever so much.

The older woman nodded and drew Kate’s head down to whisper once more, Kate dear, I know what is bothering you, but I believe this will all work out for her. Come see us, and we’ll talk about our plan for Lindsey; it’s a good one.

Truly stunned, Kate turned to look at this woman, who now felt both like savior and oracle and murmured, Eleanor, how could you know? I’ve not spoken with you about any of this.

That dear face broke into a thousand wrinkles as Eleanor smiled back to repeat, Come and see us this weekend, and we’ll all talk. Now, dear girl, Jeff is about to introduce you as the star of this show, so go on up there and accept the kudos. You have worked hard—very hard—but there is more to do. And we’ll all get it done. Jeff knows it, too.

As Kate turned to look and listen to Jeff’s glowing introduction, she realized that the crushing weight of the burden she had been carrying was gone. With Eleanor’s astonishing revelation, Kate no longer felt like Dr. Lindsey McCall’s only hope. Suddenly Kate was excited, really excited. She stood to walk toward the stage, smiling and thinking, This thing is not over. It’s just beginning.

Standing at the podium, she turned to look at Jeff to thank him for his lengthy and somewhat laudatory introduction. Grinning, she started to speak, then stopped as she realized that no one could hear her since the entire room was on its feet, clapping wildly, and that the tall, lanky shadow standing by the door could be Steve. Still smiling, Kate stared across the huge banquet room, and the shadow moved into the light. Yes, Dr. Steve Cooper was back.

There are two kinds of truth, small truth and great truth. You can recognize a small truth because its opposite is a falsehood. The opposite of a great truth is another great truth.

—NIELS BOHR

2

About Seven Months Earlier

Kate and Jeff had come to the Houston Tribune as a team. He had been her editor at the San Francisco Gazette, and they had forged an extremely close professional and personal friendship. So when he got the offer from the struggling Houston Tribune, one of Jeff’s conditions for accepting the job was that Kate would be hired as one of the senior crime reporters. Jeff was hired to turn the financials around, but the paper still struggled after a year of just about all the magic Jeff Simmons could apply.

Then Kate found the seventy-five word inconspicuous story about a Texas Medical Center cardiologist indicted and convicted of homicide. Buried in the Texas Medical Professional Review site, Kate literally stumbled on it when she entered a typo in the Google search bar as she was doing some research on an entirely unrelated subject. Kate had never heard of a physician being indicted for murder. It just did not happen, she had thought at the time. And she had worked the crime desk for four news services in five states.

How had a story of this magnitude escaped the press and the local Houston news? For a moment, Kate had stared at the article and reread the piece for the third time. For that matter, how had she missed it? How had she missed the notice in the police blotter? For crying out loud, she was head of the crime desk at the Trib, how on earth could she have missed a two-week murder trial? The small article in the Professional Review Organization site made no mention of the dates or any other details other than that Dr. Lindsey McCall, a former cardiologist at Houston Medical Center, had been found guilty of intentional homicide. Quickly googling Lindsey McCall, Kate scanned the first few pages of several hundred hits. Paging through the series, she found no entries about this case. Unbelievably, this story was unknown.

Kate was acutely aware that there were other hungry reporters searching for the perfect tip: that once-in-a-lifetime confluence of human interest, intrigue, and scandal. This was it.

She knew she had to calm down, for she was incredibly excited, and when she got like this, she could not think straight. She closed her eyes and practiced the meditative techniques a therapist had taught her years ago: Breathe in, breathe out, focus on your breath and only your breath.

As always, the technique worked, and she now knew her next steps. Glancing at her watch, she steeled herself for the call, for she hated using Jim in this way, but she had no other options and little time. If she had stumbled on this, so could a thousand other reporters.

Convicting an internationally known and respected cardiologist for homicide based on misuse of an experimental drug seemed fantastic, absurd. Then a few phone calls corroborated the basic facts; Dr. Lindsey McCall was currently in a Huntsville jail, serving out her two-year sentence for intentional homicide.

As she waited for her call to Jim in the Houston DA’s office to go through, she thought about the few facts she had learned about this case. And the more she considered it, the more remarkable it seemed. In her ten-year review of all fifty states, there were no cases where a physician had been indicted for homicide. And yet Dr. Lindsey McCall had not only been charged but convicted. What was it about this place? Kate wondered for probably the one hundredth time.

Her musings were interrupted when Jim picked up. After they had exchanged initial pleasantries, he confirmed the facts that she had read online. The victim had been the doctor’s mother and that the homicide indictment was based on McCall’s use of her own unapproved research drug on a human—a human who happened to be dying and who happened to be her mother. Kate recalled thinking that if she’d seen a movie with this story as the plot line, she’d have walked out; it was so absurd. Yet there it was, five hundred words of pure gold. Kate ended the call with an apology and a rushed, Thanks, Jim, I’ve got to try to reach Jeff before he leaves the office. I’ll get back to you, I promise.

Although it was getting late on a Friday afternoon, Kate figured Jeff was still in the office. When he picked up his private line, he growled, This better be good, Kate. I promised Ellen that I’d be home early and that we would be on time—for once—for our reservations at Café Annie’s.

Kate knew that Jeff and his wife were extremely protective of their Friday date-nights. That was most likely one of the primary reasons the couple was still very happily married, despite the passage of seventeen years and the appearance of five children.

Once Kate had outlined what she had discovered and the way she would like to put together her proposal for presentation to the newspaper’s board of trustees, Jeff’s response was a whispered, Holy shit, Kate, we can’t present this to the board. If someone slipped and mentioned it, one of the major news services could pick up on it, and we’d lose out. Hold on for a few minutes while I do some checking.

She smiled as she heard the click of the hold line. Kate was delighted that he saw the urgency and was as excited as she was about the potential here. She loved working for the guy. He was smart and didn’t play games. More than that, he was never afraid to make a decision.

While waiting, she switched her home office phone to speaker and continued listing the work that had to be done for this proposal so it would be in some shape to present on Monday. Sighing, she realized that she would have to cancel her date tomorrow night.

Maybe, Townsend, she thought to herself, the fact that you work every blasted minute of your waking hours is the reason you have no social life—nada.

Okay, Kate, we have a meeting in my office with Marguerite and Eleanor at seven sharp. You get to work, now I gotta get— Apparently realizing that she had not said a word, Jeff barked, Kate, are you there? Say something.

I’m getting my nose to the grindstone, which is where it will stay all weekend.

She laughed as she heard the dial tone.

Kate spent half that Sunday night putting together the proposal to sell Jeff on approving an investigative series on this case. She knew he would go for it but suspected that the main problem would be funding the necessary research trips to do the clinical investigation articles she knew were essential to the series.

Monday morning, Kate barged into Jeff’s office with barely a knock and took no note of the two women who sat at his glass conference table. Tossing his copy of her proposal into his lap, Kate continued the conversation they had ended six hours earlier—at 1:00 a.m.

Jeff, I added a page explaining why I think the investigational drug research, including a site visit to the primary research site at Andrews, Sacks, and Levine, is so necessary. If you turn to page 12, you’ll see the bullet points covering my rationale and—

Cutting her off with a grin, Jeff casually asked Kate if she’d like a cup of coffee and would she like to say hello to Eleanor and Marguerite Philbin. Mortified, for she remembered now that Jeff had said he would see if the owners of the paper could join them for this meeting, Kate could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. Both Kate and Jeff understood that there was no time to waste here. That a case of this magnitude had not been uncovered by another reporter was nothing short of miraculous for the Tribune but if Kate learned about it, then so could their competitors, both locally and nationally. Decisions had to be made quickly and discreetly. Thankfully, the Philbin sisters were masters at discretion, and both enjoyed intrigue.

Recovering somewhat, Kate smiled awkwardly and extended her hand first to Eleanor and then to Marguerite, exclaiming as she did so, I am so sorry for my rudeness, please forgive me.

Marguerite was the first to answer in a soft Houston drawl, Kate, dear, Jeff has already briefed us on the urgency of this matter, and we have both reviewed your preliminary proposal this morning before we came to Jeff’s office. We have just a few questions if we may.

Three hours later, Kate had her green light and an additional $75,000 added to the budget she had drafted the night before. The Philbins were consummate businesswomen, Kate learned in that two-hour meeting. Their questions and suggestions were incisive, and their connections were of critical importance to Kate. But the best part of the meeting was that the two women grasped the potential galvanizing effects of this investigative series upon Houston immediately. When they lobbied Jeff harder than she did for the inclusion of the two-article in-depth look at academic, clinical research, and big pharma (the moniker given the pharmaceutical industry by their detractors), Jeff had thrown up his hands in mock despair and laughingly agreed to the entire format as Kate had written it.

Marguerite and Eleanor Philbin were not only very wealthy native Houstonians, but were also devout Catholics, a fact that had been revealed to Jeff and Kate at the meeting. The relevance of those three attributes was evident in not-for-profit boards of trustees like hospitals. Therefore, both women had served on the boards of a majority of the Texas Medical Center (TMC) hospitals.

The TMC boasted over two hundred thousand workers in forty-two institutions covering over one thousand acres, about the size of the financial district in downtown Manhattan. Located on South Main Street in central Houston, it is currently the largest medical complex in the world.

But the pride of Houstonians also held an irresistible allure when it came to human drama and intrigue. Kate knew this intuitively, but Eleanor and Marguerite had related some personal anecdotes of their own about a few former TMC physician and administrative misalliances that were both appalling and hysterically funny. The stories were told with promises of confidence, of course, but the one point that Jeff and she had disagreed on—what the meat of this story was—was resolved.

Kate believed that people—all people—took a perverse pleasure in learning of the misfortunes of someone thought to be smarter, richer, or nobler. She argued for the introductory piece, giving a brief overview of the case against Lindsey and then introducing her Houston readers to the realities of medical research in the twenty-first century.

The daughter of a retired California cardiac surgeon, Kate had grown up listening to her dad and his partners trying to cope with the rapid changes affecting their medical billings and of the intense competition for the research dollar. To a majority of Americans, the nut and bolt of what drove academic medicine and clinical research was a black box. Kate was sure that readers of all ages and occupations would be eager to open up that box and peek inside.

Jeff disagreed, because he was wary of making powerful enemies within the TMC. His strong feelings were the residual reaction to a slander lawsuit filed against him while working in Boston; the suit was filed by a surgeon whose patient’s death was the focus of his story. While Jeff was explaining what had happened all those years before, it was apparent that he was reliving the entire dreadful nightmare. Kate had known some of what had happened but never the whole story. She was speechless, for she had never seen Jeff this upset.

Very gently, Marguerite leaned over to touch Jeff’s arm. Jeff, she said softly, "such a thing will not happen here in Houston. I will not allow it."

Although her voice was not raised, its tone was emphatic. Marguerite’s light-blue eyes were fixed on Jeff, and when, after a few seconds, he’d continued staring down at the glass table they all sat around, Kate watched the long, spidery fingers clamp down and squeeze his arm. Hard. Saying nothing, he looked up at her, and their gazes locked. Marguerite simply nodded her lips tight.

Amazingly Kate watched Jeff relax and nod as well as he took the elder woman’s hand and shook it, saying, You know, Marguerite, I believe you. I really do, I guess I’m not accustomed to having a boss I can trust.

Following a long silence, Marguerite asked, Kate, dear, how do you plan to start?

Kate thought how she normally detested being called dear, but out of Marguerite’s mouth, it sounded endearing and loving. She answered, Get started how? I’m sorry, Marguerite, I don’t know what you mean.

Well, replied the older woman, "I think the proprietary nature of the research labs at the medical school and at Andrews, Sacks, and Levine may pose an obstacle to a Houston Trib reporter attempting entry to do an investigative series on a new drug, don’t you?"

With a startled laugh, Kate acknowledged the truth of the statement and exhaled very slowly.

Actually, Kate, replied Eleanor, speaking for the first time since the pleasantries of the meeting had concluded an hour earlier, I have a couple of thoughts since I currently serve on the board at Houston Medical Center Hospital. I have met Mr. Reardon at several medical center functions, and I found him to be a most unusual businessman. Eleanor’s bright-blue eyes twinkled as she scanned the bullet points of Kate’s proposal. I think Mr. Reardon will find this project every bit as intriguing as Marguerite and I.

The older woman paused to sip some coffee and then continued, I’ll make a couple of phone calls: first, to Mr. Reardon and then to Dr. Stewart when I get home later this morning. I’m certain Christine will be more than happy to set up a meeting between you and Hank Reardon. She grabbed a small sterling silver-enclosed notepad from her purse and jotted down a few notes, then glanced up and addressed Kate as she refocused the attention of the group on Dr. Christine Stewart.

This is very timely, Eleanor remarked, for it was just two months ago that Dr. Stewart received a commendation from the trustees for her ten-million dollar grant from Andrew, Sacks, and Levine. Her predecessor, Dr. Bayer, had begun the process with the ASL new chief executive officer, Hank Reardon.

Eleanor paused to sip some coffee, and as she did, Jeff commented, That grant is based on the research done by Dr. Lindsey McCall, on that modification of an old heart drug, right? In fact, it was the one that she used to kill her mother, right?

Kate was watching the interchange as she attempted to determine whether she should join the comments; she happened to notice an almost imperceptible expression flash across Eleanor’s face as Jeff finished speaking. Eleanor looked almost angry, but the expression disappeared so quickly that Kate wondered if she had imagined it. A large part of Kate’s skill as a reporter lay in noting such flashes of emotion, and she wondered why Eleanor would show anger at Jeff for asking about Dr. McCall’s use of the drug. Reflecting back on what she’d seen, she realized that Eleanor had reacted to Jeff’s phrase kill her mother. As she sat turning that over in her mind, Kate looked up to find three pairs of eyes staring at her.

Uh, it looks as if I’ve missed something here?

Patting her hand a bit indulgently, Eleanor laughed and replied, Kate, dear, I am sure you are exhausted after the weekend of work you’ve put in. I doubt that you got more than a few hours of sleep. I was asking if you would like me to call Dr. Stewart to let her know that you’ll be setting up a meeting with her this week.

Delighted, Kate bobbed her head and squeezed Eleanor’s hand as she said, Yes, please. Would you do that as soon as you can get to it?

The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts.

—BERTRAND RUSSELL

3

By eight fifty-five Wednesday morning, a mere two days after Eleanor had made her introductory call to Dr. Stewart’s office, Kate sat waiting for her nine o’clock meeting with the new chair of internal medicine.

Although Houston’s traffic problems were legendary, traffic within the downtown and medical center areas was normally pretty light. So Kate had turned onto Ross Sterling Drive in front of Memorial Hermann Hospital by about quarter past eight. She’d done some research on the TMC before moving to Houston the year before and knew that the TMC was like Texas: huge. She recalled that there were over sixty independent medical institutions and with eighty thousand or ninety thousand physicians, researchers, and employees in the sprawling twelve miles of incorporated TMC prime real estate. Even with all those facts, however, she had not imagined the immensity and complexity of the place.

Precisely at nine, the door to Dr. Stewart’s office opened, and there stood the chair of internal medicine. To Kate, Dr. Christine Stewart looked exactly as she had during the extensive media blitz thrown by the local Houston television stations upon her arrival to the city. About five foot eight and relatively slim, Stewart stood clothed in a light wool herringbone designer suit that looked like a Dior, accessorized with black low-heeled pumps. Her pumps were definitely Ferragamo, Kate thought as she examined the new chair of medicine. Dr. Stewart’s outfit had to have cost her somewhere close to twenty-five hundred. These observations and many more ticked through Kate’s mind as she stood and extended her hand to the woman standing in the doorway of her office. Dr. Stewart looked more like a Fortune 500 CEO than a physician, Kate reflected as she smiled a hello to the attractive blonde.

I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Stewart, for meeting with me on such short notice.

Waving Kate in and directing her to sit at a tastefully decorated coffee table and three decorator chairs, Christine Stewart smiled warmly as she laughingly responded, Kate, one would have to be a fool to refuse the chair of the board of trustees the favor of a sixty-minute meeting.

Christine’s keen gray eyes noted Kate’s expression at her comment, so asked her, You did not know that Eleanor Philbin is chair of the board at the Houston General Medical School?

For only a moment, Kate considered smiling back into the gray eyes and lying, but she knew her surprise had been registered by Stewart.

Eleanor told me that she was on the board but failed to mention that she was chair. Surprised at her own thoughts, Kate mentally shook herself to regain her objectivity as she wondered what it was about this woman that had evoked such pettiness. Recovering, Kate continued with a smile, Regardless, Dr. Stewart, I am certain that your schedule is extremely full, so I do appreciate your assistance.

This time, Dr. Stewart nodded and agreed, Well, Kate, you’re correct. I am booked very tightly today and therefore can spare only about forty-five minutes with you. But my chief of cardiology, Dr. Steve Cooper, has a bit more time today and is willing to take you to see Dr. McCall’s research laboratories if that would be useful to you.

Without waiting for Kate’s response, Dr. Stewart declared that Eleanor had explained to her the purpose of Kate’s visit and that she had placed a call to Hank Reardon in Zurich earlier that morning. She expected a call back at any time now.

If your goal is to understand the basic issues of academic clinical research with emphasis on Dr. McCall’s breakthroughs with Digipro, then you’ll want to go to Zurich so that you can see the corporate headquarters for ASL.

Just as she completed her last comment, there was a discreet knock on the door, and upon opening the door, Dr. Stewart’s secretary quietly announced that Mr. Hank Reardon was on line two. Standing, Christine motioned to Kate to follow as she approached a large conference table on the opposite side of her office. There sat a computer and several phones. Touching a couple of buttons on the computer, Christine clicked on Web-Com, and there appeared the face of the internationally known corporate magician known as Hank Reardon, smiling his signature grin.

Top of the morning to you, Christine. I take it this is Kate Townsend sitting next to you? Without waiting either for Kate’s nod of the head or her verbal yes that accompanied it, Reardon continued, Have you been to Zurich, Kate?

Again, responding only to Kate’s nonverbal signals, Reardon nodded and smiled at her negative.

Good, if you can get here by the weekend, I can pick you up at the airport and take you to our labs. Oh, right, Christine. Reardon acknowledged a frown from Dr. Stewart. Kate, my daughter, Liisa, is the head scientist of the Digipro research project for ASL and will be in Zurich until Monday afternoon. You can meet with Liisa before she has to leave on a business trip. Okay, Dr. Stewart? Have we covered all that you had mentioned?

There was that engaging smile again, but as Kate stared at the computer screen, there seemed to be something other than amusement in Reardon’s startlingly blue eyes as he waited for Christine Stewart’s response. When Kate heard Stewart’s voice, she was surprised when she heard her name. Ignoring Reardon’s last comment, Stewart’s cool gaze was on Kate as she said, Well Kate, if you have your schedule, maybe you can give Hank an idea of how soon you can leave for Zurich?

Pulling out her Blackberry with her left hand, Kate looked first at the unsmiling face of Christine Stewart and then at the electric-blue eyes of Hank Reardon on the screen as she replied,